


little lower than the angels

by owedbetter



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, British Politics, Eventual Romance, F/M, May/December Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owedbetter/pseuds/owedbetter
Summary: 'She such a very ordinary little woman;He such a thumping crook;But both, for a moment, little lower than the angelsIn the teashop's ingle-nook.'A young woman with ambition, a worn man who believes in her - all in a little coffee shop, simply because they could.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired (and kind of requested) by my dear friend, Shu. You did this to me. Sorry this took so long.
> 
> The group chat was also inspired by the nsfw vicbourne gc. I love all of you sinners. I hope you enjoy my homage to the memes.

“ _Everyone is looking at you looking at him._  
_Everyone can tell._ He can tell. _So you_  
_spend most of your time not looking at him._  
 _The wallpaper, the floor, there are cracks_  
 _in the ceiling. Someone has left a can of_  
 _iced tea in the corner, it is half-empty,_  
 _I mean half-full. There are four light bulbs_  
 _in the standing lamp, there is a fan. You_  
 _are counting things to keep from looking_  
 _at him. Five chairs, two laptops, someone’s_  
 _umbrella, a hat. People are talking to you_  
 _look at their faces. This is a good trick. They_  
 _will think you are listening to them and not_  
 _thinking about him. Now he is talking. So_  
 _you look away. The cracks in the ceiling are_  
 _in the shape of a whale or maybe an elephant_  
 _with a fat trunk. If he ever falls in love with_  
 _you, you will lie on your backs in a field_  
 _somewhere and look up at the sky and he will_  
 _say,_ Baby, look at that silly cloud, it is a whale!  
_and you will say,_ Baby, that is an elephant  
with a fat trunk, _and you will argue for a bit,_  
_but he will love you anyway._

 _He is asking a question now and no one has_  
_answered it yet. So you lower your eyes from_  
 _the plaster and say,_ The twenty first, I think,  
_and he smiles and says,_ Oh, cool, _and you_  
_smile back, and you cannot stop smiling,_  
 _oh, you cannot stop your smile.”_

 _‘On the Discomfort of Being in the Same Room as the Boy You Like_ ’ by Sarah Kay

 

* * *

 

 

 **LADIES IN WAITING** **(crown emoji)**

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** I’m dropping out of it.

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** I quit. I can’t do this.

 

Message sent. At the time, she did not quite know yet if she meant it. She didn’t. But it felt like she wanted to.

This was a freedom her friends in shadows could afford her – some might say this was some of the only freedom she had ever truly known. They lived so far away that they might as well have lived in another century—yet they brought the girl this comfort; this comfort being that of ephemeral support, no matter how fickle or fleeting or possibly false, as her mother never failed to remind her.

Yet, it was enough; enough was always more than enough for a girl who felt like she had nothing, wasn’t it?

Rain poured—the sky uncaring, unrelenting as the cosmos often were to the melancholy musings of specks of little mundane human life. And so was the wind in its howling. She felt as though if she were any frailer, any smaller—it might have carried her far away. It was, perhaps, her only strength, she felt—that she managed to stay afoot on stable ground.

She ran as fast as she could.

The skin of her bare legs, her too-tight pencil skirt just reaching her knees, was soaked in filthy rainwater. As were her brogues. She held her satchel and binder folder to her chest; the pressure made her more aware of how quickly her heart beat in her chest. And she really didn’t need the reminder.

Alexandrina Victoria sought shelter from the sudden downpour in what appeared to be a small café from the outside—the only establishment in the area that she saw with its lights on. No bell announced her entrance and yet the few pairs of eyes that were in attendance had all turned to look at her anyway.

In her mind’s eye, the eyes stayed on her for longer than they did.

As soon as she walked in, a man went rushing out to catch after the umbrella that fell over and was being dragged through the muddy cobblestones by that ever-so tumultuous wind. It was a stark contrast to the calm inside the café—so much larger inside than she’d imagined it would be.

She could not quite appreciate the details yet, however, as she still felt what might have been acid creep up her throat. Her breath was heavy in her chest and more than anything—she wanted to check her phone. Her fingers twitched to reach for her pocket to check her messages but not yet, she chided herself.

Not yet.

Her hair was combed, swept, and tied too tightly into a professional, smooth ponytail; it was giving her a headache. The tip of her rain-soaked ponytail just barely brushed the small of her back. She swallowed and struggled to catch her breath. Water shrugged off her coat, she left it to hang on the rack by the door, near where the other patrons stowed their umbrellas.

Her cream-coloured, pussybow blouse was ruffled and speckled with rain. Wrinkled and not at all presentable and, more than anything, she wished she was wearing something with colour. But responsible people don’t wear bright colours—they wear muted tones if they want to look like an adult who wants to be taken seriously. They tie their hair back and have it smooth and silky and straight, and nothing else.

 _Dress your age, Drina—but don’t look too grown up! You’ll look too silly, like you’re wearing your Oma’s clothes! Now stand up straight,_ a voice in her mind chided. _Chin up. Inhale. Exhale. You’re in public, Alexandrina. They’re_ watching _. Everyone is always watching._

A huff of breath later, she bid the racing heart in her chest to take its place in queue of the hierarchy of her feelings—there is no place for panic or distress in public; not for her. She collected herself, her nondescript black satchel comfortably resettled along her shoulders.

Alexandrina frowned, the threat of tears in her eyes too warm for comfort, and she made her way to the register.

“Hi!” said the girl that greeted her at the till. A touch too enthusiastic. Rounded glasses, light brown hair in a low, loose ponytail. _Sally,_ her nametag said. “Welcome to Melbourne’s. What can I get you?”

“Hello,” Alexandrina replied. Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked upon the menu, every item void of numbers next to it.

There was an assortment of flavours she had never heard of before on the menu—everything was far, far too complicated for an already preoccupied mind. There was the sound of a typewriter just behind her. There was a soft, sweetly playing violin with an open case in front of him just by a small stage at the corner. There was the indistinct murmuring of voices in the café that she could not quite make out but her mother’s voice was in her head, whispering maliciously— _they’re talking about you, Drina. They’re_ all _talking about_ you _. You’re taking too long!_

Finally, she realised that she _was_ stalling. She swallowed and only said, “Sorry. I’ve never been here. I, uh—just tea, I suppose.”

“Oh, uh. Okay—” Sally replied, tongue-tied, with eyes wide. “We—well, we have quite the selection of teas and—”

“I’ve no preference for anything, really, just—tea,” Alexandrina said too quickly, too impatiently. “Regular old tea, please. House tea, have you got _that?_ ”

“I’d be happy to fix you a cuppa but, well, you’d have to be a bit more speci—”

“Do you _not_ have tea here or am I wasting _your_ time _and_ mine?” she snapped.

 _Temper, ‘Drina,_ her mother’s voice chided in her mind. _Don’t make a scene!_

She grit her teeth.

The girl, just a few years younger than she was, surely, was near panic—Alexandrina knew the look well. The tears in those bright eyes, the nearly imperceptible shake of her fumbling fingers, the swallowing of air. And, really, she was just about to apologise when an older, taller, rain-soaked man came from beside young Sally and rested his hands on her shoulders.

It was the perfect segue for Alexandrina to look away and excuse herself from the embarrassment of her temper.

“Sally, will you be a darling and give Alex a hand over there? Perhaps he ought to remember he isn’t paid to flirt with waiting customers.”

“Yes! I mean… yeah, sure. Sure, I can do that,” she said, ducking away quickly to run towards the curly haired man with the ridiculous moustache who really looked to be flirting at the other end of the bar.

She hated ridiculous moustaches.

When the man interrupted and rescued young Sally from her misplaced temper, Alexandrina looked at her phone to check her messages, and she wasn’t disappointed to see that her girls had given the reaction she’d been expecting—nay, the one she was secretly hoping for. But the man who was now behind the till did not know that.

“Hello, ma’am,” he greeted, his voice low and kindly. His dark curls were sopping wet and he wore a warm, easy smile that went unnoticed, as Alexandrina was currently preoccupied.

 

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**eliana.:** ???

 **eliana.:** DON’T YOU DARE

 **Meg (shooting star emoji):** Noooooooo!

 **physician polka:** NO

 **Harriet S.:** What’s happened? :(

 **eliana.:** I WILL PERSONALLY FLY FROM KOREA

 **Emma:** You’ve already paid the fee, V. Shame to drop out now. :(

 **physician polka:** we’re all going to england now gtgtgtg

 

“Ma’am?” the man repeated.

“Look, I’ve already—!” Alexandrina started, forgetting herself momentarily, when she saw that she had to look up to face her new barista. “Oh, sorry. Tea, please.”

The smile never left his eyes and to her temper, he remained unfazed. He brushed his damp hair from his head and straightened his posture.

“We have several unique blends that you may choose from,” he said.

“I don’t really have—” she started before rolling her eyes and sighing. “Oh, all right,” she relented, glancing at the tea menu again before choosing the first few words that caught her eye. “Uh… a chai tea latte, then.”

“A chai _tea_ latte?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows up, as if her order amused him.

“Yes,” she dared, anticipating the tone that came when she was about to be patronised—she knew the script well enough to know when it was coming. She straightened; her jaw, stiff.

“Is there a problem?” she dared.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but chai _means_ tea.”

Her brows furrowed and heat rose to her cheeks. But, before she could protest and voice out her indignation over being corrected, the man simply punched the order on the till.

“A chai latte, then,” he said, the moment forgotten and the embarrassment swallowed—tasting all too much like her pride down her throat.

The typewriter in the background was too loud. The violin was starting to sound sharp and flat. She closed her hands into fists, her nails ground into the skin of her palm. _Breathe,_ she told herself. _Breathe._

Then, man spoke again. “And how much would you like to pay for your tea?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“How much would you like to pay for your tea?”

“I don’t think I understand your question.”

“The payment scheme in this shop is that you only pay what you think your drink is worth.”

“That’s curious,” she said. Her brows knit and she tilted her head just so. “Wouldn’t everyone just take advantage of that and pay too lowly?”

“People could, yes, but it’s a practise of faith and good will, ma’am,” he answered. “You may also have the option of claiming a free drink through the pay-it-forward jar. It’s almost always just enough.”

“A pay-it-forward jar?”

“Some customers may, if they are so inclined, pay for someone else’s coffee or tea or anything else—for someone who may not, at the time, be able to afford a hot drink on a cold day, or a warm meal on a cold night.”

She softened at the thought, a small smile coming into place as he explained. The man – she could not find a nametag on his apron because he wasn’t wearing one (he might have discarded it when he went out to rescue the poor umbrella from the torrential storm still raging outside) – had a calming sense about him. A kindness in his bright green eyes that made her think that, perhaps—here was a man who was kind and _meant it_.

“That’s… very generous,” she said finally. “Okay, then. Ten pounds for my chai latte and let the change pay it forward.”

“Very generous yourself, ma’am,” he said as he punched in her order and her chosen payment. He looked up from the register and asked, “Name?”

“Alexandrina,” she said, handing him her credit card.

“One chai latte for Alexandrina,” he called out and the two other baristas – Sally and Alex, she remembered – stopped the conversation (or one-sided argument, more like, as Sally tried with everything she had to get him to actually start working) began the prep for the order. Or, to be perfectly clear—Sally started the order and Alex continued flirting with the other customer at the bar. The man who’d been attending to Alexandrina’s order shook his head ever so slightly.

“Excuse him. I owed his father a favour. Please have a seat and I’ll deliver your drink to you instead of subjecting you to what he thinks are his charming advances.”

Alexandrina smiled and gave a short laugh, even, as she put her credit card in her card keeper and put it back into her satchel.

“Cheers,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps it was the ambience of the cafe itself that was starting to calm her. It reminded her, most of all, of a Hobbit-hole in Hobbiton.

There were small potted plants that hung on the walls and the ceilings. On a large bookshelf that made up most of the back wall, there was a self-sustaining eco-aquarium she’d read about sometimes—the plants just above the water cleaned the water and the waste from the fish fed the plants.

The violin-playing busker was still playing on the corner of the shelf and beside the stage was where she saw a keyboard and an acoustic guitar rested against the wall.

The chairs were a collection of, what she guessed, were stools and chairs and tables made of reclaimed, refurbished wood; and there were also soft, cotton sofa chairs and couches. The blonde girl with the bright but pale blue typewriter was sat by the entrance, just near the window, was typing away, completely oblivious to anything and anyone else.

The girl wasn’t watching at all, despite Alexandrina’s earlier anxieties, and neither were the other patrons in the café—nobody was watching her and waiting for her to screw up, and that was calming enough.

She looked around again and the more she saw, the more that the café itself felt cozy. What with its warm tones and pops of colour through the greens and blooms that blossomed from the corners of her eye—the softness and freshness of nature, in contrast to the hard ruins and sharp corners of old architecture.

Unfortunately, just as Alexandrina sat herself down on a sofa chair near one of the corner windows, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. When she took it out, she sighed as she looked at the name. She grit her teeth and swallowed, already practising her tone in her mind but knowing that it would sound wrong to the other end of the line, no matter how she tried.

“Hello, Mama,” she said, as resigned and wary as she could allow herself to be.

“’Drina, I just called Lei. She said you weren’t home!” her mother shrilled. “Where _are_ you?”

“I already told you, Mama. Today was the last day to—” Alexandrina tried to say, in the best calm tone that she could muster.

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually went through with it?!”

“As a matter of fact, _yes,_ I di—”

“’Drina, for goodness sake! When are you going to stop with this silly nonsense of yours?”

“ _Mama_ —” she said a little more loudly.

“Honestly, ‘Drina, politics is no place for a young woman! Especially of your class! And standard! Why, even dearest John—”

“Mama, I have never shown interest in the opinions of John Conroy, nor will I ever.”

“Really, ‘Drina. You’re being very needlessly difficult! Have you no sympathy for your poor mother—”

“Poor is hardly the word I would use to describe you, Mama.”

“That is not the _point!_ ” her mother trilled, so loudly that she had to get the phone just a little farther away from her ear. “Just look at you, ‘Drina! No one will take you seriously! Oh, my poor darling girl, they’ll all just laugh at you! Running for parliament is not the kind of profession I envisioned for my only daughter!”

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s _my_ life to live and not yours, then, isn’t it?!” she rebutted, voice rising as she felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“You take that tone with your own mother?! The disrespect! Why I—”

“You will have my respect, Mama, when you have _earned it_. Good bye!”

“ _’Drina!_ ” was the last thing she heard before she could properly end the call.

 

* * *

 

 

With too much force, she let her phone drop on top of the table and it landed screen-first. Miraculously, it did not crack but she could not be bothered to check. More than anything, she wished her little Dash could come up to her and give her some calming cuddles—he always knew when his mama needed him and by God, did she need him right then and there.

She felt the tears in her eyes and though the call had ended, it started vibrating again and she could still hear her mother’s shrill, demeaning words at the back of her mind.

For the love of God—why was she even in public? Why did she think she could do this?

Before she could stop it, she felt a tear run down her cheek and she immediately went to wipe it away. But another came just as fast and the only thought in her mind was a chant, a prayer—something inside her begging to whatever deity was looking after her, if there were one. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._

It was his presence that startled her—the same man with the deep set eyes and the warm smile, and a drink that suspiciously did not look like a chai latte to her. It had an elaborate whipped cream swirl on top of it with chocolate drizzle and small, white marshmallows on top of it. He put it atop her table, next to her now still phone.

“What is this?” she asked just a bit too sharply, and then she cleared her throat. “I didn’t order this.”

“I know,” he said. “I just thought you could use something to brighten your spirits, that’s all. Something a chai latte can’t quite accomplish.”

“Is that some sort of coffee drink?”

“There is coffee in it, yes.”

“But I do not like coffee.”

“Nobody doesn’t like coffee, ma’am. They just haven’t had the right brew yet,” he said. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward. I simply thought you could use some cheering up, from the sound of that phone call. Tea is for comfort but chocolate’s for joy—coffee is a bit of both. Please, think nothing of it. Sally will be here in a moment with your latte.”

 

* * *

 

She waited until he was back behind the bar. When he resumed his post, Alexandrina picked up her phone and ignored the missed calls from her mother.

Back at the bar, he was just by Sally as the girl made the drink. It was evident to anyone who had eyes that the girl properly fancied this man, who seemed to be oblivious to her crush—she thought the word ‘seemed’ as she had the natural inclination to mistrust anyone of his species. _Men_.

Yet, still, she thought herself to be charmed—or slightly ashamed of her behaviour. One or the other—or _both_.

Subtlety, it has to be said, however, was not one of her strongest suits. Alexandrina Victoria was not a young woman who was demure or shy, much to her mother’s chagrin; she was one who wore her heart on her sleeve, much to her mortification whenever she says the wrong thing at the wrong time. Tact was not her forte. Transparency might not be the most admirable of traits in an aspiring politician—it must be said that it certainly isn’t a trait you’d wish to have when you’re trying to take a photo of a man ever so discreetly from a few feet away… and the flash was still on.

“Shit,” she cursed but she thanked heaven she had the reflex to slightly lower her hands so that it looked like she was taking a photo of the drink instead. Also humiliating, yes, to be caught as that girl who took photos of her coffee—but not quite as embarrassing as being caught taking photos of the cute barista man at the coffee bar.

Alexandrina didn’t have the heart to look back and see if they saw her do it, and simply went on to check her phone. Missed calls from her persistent mother who would get too aggravated to carry on eventually, yes, but as she was about to check her messages again, she took the tall glass stein by the handle and took a sip from the straw—and Christ alive, he was right.

She tasted the sweet, rich chocolate almost immediately and the balancing bitterness of the coffee. When she swallowed her first sip, there was a burning aftertaste at the back of her throat. The drink was cold and yet, it felt warm as it ran down, and she felt her heart start to race—for once, it was for a good reason.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as she took another sip.

Alexandrina went back to her photo app and saw that the first photo she took was was blurry, of course, but after a few moments of inconspicuous sipping and after Sally delivered the promised chai latte, she tried again. Yes, she double-checked that the flash was off this time, and when she was satisfied with the – though somewhat grainy – photos she’d taken, she opened up her messaging app and checked in with her group chat.

There were unread messages from the chat, but those could wait, as she chose to ignore those for the moment and started to type.

 

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** will explain everything later but LOOK

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** _sent 2 photo attachments_

 **xin yi:** (eyes emoji x 2)

 **Emma:** Tell me you didn’t drop out.

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** IDK WHAT TO DO YET! BUT HE GAVE ME A FREE DRINK BECAUSE HE THOUGHT I WAS SAD!?!

 

She really did take a photo of the drink on her phone then and sent that to her group as well.

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** _1 photo attachment_

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** I don’t know what this is but it’s SOOOO GOOD!

 **eliana.:** bang him

 **xin yi:** i agree

 **Emma:** (blushing emoji x 3)

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** OMG STOP

 **physician polka:** Nice™

 **eliana.** : B

 **eliana.:** A

 **eliana.:** N

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** STOPPPPPPP

 **eliana.:** G

 **eliana:** HIM !!!!!!!!!!

 **xin yi:** (smirk emoji x 3)

 **Meg (shooting star emoji):** (tongue emoji) (splashing sweat emoji)

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** I wasn’t very nice to him…

 **Harriet S.:** What did you do?

 **eliana.:** MAKE UP SEX

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** I just got off the phone with mama and she was being her usual self. Ugh. He came by with the drink and I was really cross with him. I didn’t mean to! (sad emoji)

 **xin yi:** relatable content

 **eliana.:** same

 **Emma:** Does he look creepy?

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** Don’t think so. Hang on.

 

She saw that he was standing by the register now, quite still—and she boldly zoomed in with her phone to take an even better photo, closer up that it properly showed his face.

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** _1 photo attachment_

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** he’s quite handsome (blushing emoji x 2)

 **xin yi:** IM SHOOK™

 **Harriet S.:** OMG

 **eliana.:** OMG

 **physician polka:** (smirking emoji x 2)

 **Meg (shooting star emoji):** OMG

 **Emma:** (eyes emoji x 3)

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** HATE U ALL

 **Emma:** Talk to him!

 

She bit her lip and, with a glance, she looked back towards the bar, where she saw him making a drink. With his still somewhat rain-soaked shirt, with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and her keen eye—she could not look away. He handled the cocktail shaker with carefree ease as there was not a hair out of place and, truly, she found herself transfixed.

It was only in hindsight that she managed to open her Snapchat app and she caught the end of his routine as he poured the dark drink into a glass and quickly create the swirl of whipped cream on top of it only for her to realise—oh holy lord, _he was the one who made her drink_.

He handed the drink to the waiting customer—it was the blonde one with the typewriter having her second drink, from the looks of it (maybe the third, if the writer stereotypes were true)—and he served her with the same easy geniality he offered to her. She saved the video to her phone and immediately went back to her group chat to send it to them.

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**xin yi:** if he’s nice go talk to him omg

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** _1 video attachment_

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** HE MADE THE DRINK HIMSELF OMG OMG

 **eliana.:** DEFINITELY BANG HIM

 **xin yi:** i love Arm™

 **Emma:** Go apologise and talk to him!

 **Harriet S.:** he’s gorgeous (hearteyes emoji) def go talk to him! (face throwing a kiss emoji)

 **eliana.:** BANG HIM

 **physician polka:** same @ eliana

 **Meg (shooting star emoji):** this is amazing omg

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** YOURE ALL HORRIBLE

 **Harriet S.:** you know you want to (wink emoji x 3)

 

* * *

 

Maybe, she was a tiny bit too susceptible to suggestion, so long as it came from people she trusted. Maybe, she had felt a sense of remorse for her behaviour and how neither he nor his staff deserved her misplaced uncouth temper. Maybe, she might have liked him a little bit and wanted to talk to him again.

And maybe, just maybe—it was little bit of everything.

When the bar was a bit slow on customers and he was by the machine, cleaning the metal spout with a towel and draining out the espresso cups on the machines, she made her approach.

“Hi,” she greeted, hesitant—and, a rarity, shy.

“Hello, ma’am,” he greeted in return. “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, nothing. It’s just—” she started, resting her arms atop the bar as he hung his towel back on the small apron wrapped around his waist. “Look, I’m—I’m truly, very sorry for my behaviour earlier. It’s been such a terrible day and I’d been looking forward to it for _years_ and I didn’t mean to take it out on you or your staff. I didn’t mean to be so cross with Sally. Or you. And I feel terrible. You were just trying to be nice to me.”

“Please, there’s nothing to forgive,” he told her. A pause, then he spoke again. “Would you like some company for a while? I find talking to strangers about my troubles can often ease me of them, from time to time.”

“Really?” she asked him.

“Really,” he replied.

“But won’t you be reprimanded?”

He looked amused again—his little smile, one she now thought was more of mischief than malice, showed and he licked his lips as he ducked his head ever so.

“I’m certain management will allow me to spare a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I know they’re kind and all, but… I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

“Let me check with the owner, then,” he said and, for a moment, she was filled with dread. Surely, he would not subject her to that—he was the one who offered, after all. She didn’t want to have to explain her bad behaviour—or her bad day to some manager. She really didn’t need the bad press that might entail.

But instead, he only looked to the side and put on a contemplative expression. He nodded, as if having a silent conversation with someone she could not see, and then he looked back at her. “I’ve checked. He’s fine with it.”

Alexandrina felt herself blush at the realisation but she also rolled her eyes and grinned at the show. He moved to take off his apron.

“Sally, I’ll be taking a quick break. You’re in charge,” he called out. He turned around and gestured to Alexandrina quickly as he began to walk away. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

As she returned to the corner that she’d chosen, she took out her phone to check her messages once again. They were enough to make her want to giggle but she struggled to maintain her composure. Still, she could not help the ear-to-ear grin on her face as she read through the chat.

 

**LADIES IN WAITING (crown emoji)**

**eliana.:** has v banged him yet

 **physician polka:** v getting the d

 **eliana.:** (face with sunglasses emoji)

 **physician polka:** (eggplant emoji) (tongue emoji) (splashing sweat emoji)

 **Victor(y)ia (queen emoji):** u guys r the WORST omg wait HES COMING OVER

 **Harriet S.:** If you don’t flirt with him i s2g

 **eliana.:** OH MY GOD

 **physician polka:** FUCK

 **xin yi:** GET IT, V

 **Emma:** Yes!

 

When he returned to her table, she had to hide her phone once more as he came around with a small plate filled with thick biscuits— _dark chocolate covered hobnobs_.

“Now you’re just showing off,” she said, though features displayed her delight as he sat down on the sofa chair opposite her. “This is simply much too much!”

“On the contrary, they might go bad if not consumed by the end of the day. It would be a waste and bad days usually call for chocolate so please, I insist.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” she took a biscuit and examined it before she ate. “I can see why nobody would pick these, though. Who still likes hobnobs?”

He chortled and leaned back, elbow propping up on the armrest as he raised his hand, the back of his knuckles brushing against the tip of his nose.

“Actually, I’m quite partial to them. I made them myself just this morning.”

“Oh,” she said, humbled and flushed. She held the biscuit with both hands now, but she could not quite yet make herself eat it. “I can’t seem to say anything right today, can I? I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am,” he said.

“You can call me Alexandrina, you know.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

She pursed her lips and took a bite of the biscuit.

“I don’t like it much, myself.”

“Really?” he said. She braced herself for the question of _why_ —the telling her that it was a beautiful name, one that suits her. She’d heard it before. So one can only imagine her surprise when he proceeded with a different why.

“Why not fashion yourself something new, then?”

She blinked and thought it through. She bit her lip, tentative to admitting the desire so close to her heart but how she’d never properly said it out loud. Not to anyone, not yet—until now. How easily this man could make her confess!

“I do, sometimes. With my friends,” she said. This was not something she said often. “I like my second name better, actually. _Victoria._ ”

“Victoria,” he said slowly, as if testing how it rolled on his tongue. “It’s regal. Elegant. Why don’t you go by Victoria instead, if you prefer it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “It was my father’s choice name, I was told, but growing up, everyone called me ‘Drina or Alexandrina, so I got used to it. But I do like Victoria better.”

“Why not try it?” he asked, leaning forward. “In your mind. Tell yourself that your name is Victoria. Imagine you’re introducing yourself and you say it— _Victoria_.”

 _My name is Victoria,_ she thought. Victoria, Victoria, Victoria.

Her grin crept up on her, without her realising it. “My name is Victoria,” she tried out loud, sounding so girlishly happy and for once, she wasn’t bothered by how _young_ she sounded. “I’m Victoria!”

He nodded.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria,” he said.

“I love how it sounds!” she exclaimed. “I love how it _feels_! How it _makes_ me feel!”

“How does it make you feel?”

“It feels…” she trailed off. “It feels powerful. Heard. It makes me feel like _me._ ”

“Then I suggest you start to go by that instead. And not just to your friends.”

“You know what,” she started and decided to put the nail on the coffin on the days of her mother’s control. She was her own woman now, especially now. And so Victoria found herself reborn.

“I think I will. I _do_ wish to be called Victoria.”

“It suits you,” he said and she chuckled.

“Don’t you ever just… turn off?”

“I’m sorry?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

“The charm?”

He laughed and it was beautiful—truly beautiful, and how a laugh could be beautiful, she didn’t know. It reached his eyes and lines protruded from the corners of them, like how beams radiated from the sun. He laughed easily and he laughed well—as he should.

This was a joyful man—that is to say, a man who should always smile, for it suited him so very well.

“You flatter me if you think me charming, ma’am,” he finally said.

“Well, you are. And you’re very kind to me,” she said. “Why _are_ you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged.

“I like to make sure everyone in the shop is happy. An unsatisfied customer makes for poor reviews,” he said, cheeky with a lifted brow to imply the jest.

Victoria rolled her eyes and smirked. He continued, “Truly, I just saw you weren’t having the best day. Thought I might offer what I could because I can. And what is chocolate and coffee but a comfort and a friend?”

“A narcotic?” she replied, flippant and jovial.

“Cheeky. I take offence at that!” he declared in equal humour. “With all due respect, ma’am—this isn’t a Starbucks. We serve _real_ coffee here. I personally make sure of it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, finishing the biscuit with a bite and taking a sip from the divine drink he’d prepared—the chai latte, long since forgotten.

After a moment, as she enjoyed his generous hospitality, he spoke.

“Now. What seems to be troubling you?”

“You’ll think I’m some silly privileged little rich girl like all the rest of them do—”

“Never,” he said, curt but sincere. “I promise you that.”

“Oh, I’ve just been working for this day for my _whole_ life! And I just don’t think I can go through with it after all,” she said, reaching for another biscuit. She broke it in half and started nibbling on it as she spoke.

“What was today?” he asked.

“I submitted my candidacy today,” she replied.

“Candidacy?” he asked again.

“For Parliament,” she answered. “Me, Alexandrina Victoria Kent, running for MP of Kensington. I _know,”_ she began, taking a large, hard bite from the biscuit. She swallowed before continuing. “Silly, isn’t it? You must think me so foolish.”

“Foolish? Not at all,” he said. “Remarkable, really.” Victoria blinked at him—round blue eyes not quite knowing what to make of her ambitions being taken seriously for what it felt like the first time in her life. He continued, “You’ve wanted to run for Parliament your whole life?”

“Sort of,” she answered. “I want to be the Prime Minister someday.”

“Prime Minister Alexandrina Victoria Kent,” he tried out—and, oh, how glorious it sounded from his lips. “It has a certain ring to it.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Though I think I would prefer Victoria, now that I think about it. And _just_ Victoria.” His eyes looked so much brighter then, she could have sworn they sparkled right then. She looked down and, when she continued, her smile faltered. “Mama doesn’t share the sentiment, though. Neither does her precious John Conroy. It’s why she called.”

“And who’s John Conroy?”

“Mama’s business partner. She’d rather he be her _life partner_ but he insists they wait and keep it professional until the time is right, whatever that means. Rubbish, I’d say, but she never listens to me,” she spoke swiftly as she ate the other quarter of the biscuit. Whole and rough—with a fair bit of bite. “Mama would rather I take over my father’s family business instead and make her and John lots of money.”

“And you don’t want to do this,” he said simply—it wasn’t a question, and for that, she was grateful.

“My father was a kind and noble man, so I’ve been told. I don’t remember him much—he died when I was still very young—but I know his legacy. His housing projects made him a real estate mogul and made my family very, very wealthy. Even my uncle, Mama’s older brother, married into royalty in Belgium. Technically, I could want for nothing and live the rest of my life in the comfort and riches my father and my family worked for me to have,” she said. And though she spoke of riches and wealth, there was a profound sadness to her lilt. Victoria paused and looked away, picking at the half of the biscuit still in her hand. “But no. That’s not the kind of life I want.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Because I have a duty,” she replied instantly. “A woman—a _person_ of my standing and privilege? To spend all the rest of my days serving only me and mine feels like a waste and a disservice. To myself, to my father, to my people and my country.”

Wistful, she looked away and smiled. “Papa built orphanages and affordable housing for the poor all over the world. He strove to make this world a better place than when he left it and he _did_ something about it. He was a great man and it takes more than just inheriting his name to live up to it.”

“So you choose to run for Parliament.”

“Yes,” she replied, instant and certain, without an inkling of her earlier doubt—though there it remained, ever still in the back of her head. “I want to help and serve my people and my country.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Well…” she started. Victoria took a long, hearty gulp of her drink. The man waited, patient as ever. Her

“Mama says a woman has no place in politics. John Conroy says I’m far too naïve and girlish and _short_ to be a dignified, respected politician—he’s _never_ believed in me, he says nobody will _ever_ take me seriously. He doesn’t think I’m serious enough. And Mama takes his every word for gospel, even when he mistreats me so. They’ve _all_ wanted to control me from the start.

“For so long, I’ve wanted to not believe them and just prove them all wrong. When I got into LSE, I was ecstatic! I graduated with honours! I wanted her to be so proud of me but Mama wasn’t thrilled, of course – she said eligible men of my standard are _intimidated_ by intelligent women and that I’d never find a suitable husband if I kept on being like this – but she relented eventually, as she thought a degree would make me a more dignified CEO when the time was right so she just _barely_ allowed for me to go.

“When I came of age and gained full control of my trust fund, there was nothing in my way. But now that I’m actually here, I just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

She ended her story with a whisper—the fright palpable, for her voice (for a moment) sounded like the young girl she still quite often felt herself to be.

“Your father… may I guess that he was Edward Kent?”

“The very same!” she exclaimed, suddenly jubilant at the thought of her him. “Did you _know_ him?”

“If there were ever a learned man of my age in this country who didn’t know of philanthropist Edward Kent of Kent Realty and Development, I have yet to meet them.”

“That was him,” she said, gleaming with pride.

“I don’t know much but I know that Edward Kent was a great man. Tenacious and imperturbable in his values, but kind and generous,” he said. “You have much of the same spirit, Victoria. I see it in your eyes and in the words you’ve just spoken. And whatever it may be that your mother or her John Conroy says, every inch of you is dignified. Enough to be Queen, if we voted on the monarchy.”

Victoria chuckled lowly.

“Isn’t saying that tantamount to treason?” she teased.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he retorted.

The pair smiled at each other for a moment, a comfortable silence between them—like old friends who didn’t just meet but a few minutes ago.

“Do you really think so?” she asked quietly. “That I can do this?”

“I do,” he replied. Victoria could have cried. “You are inexperienced in many a great deal, yes, as is the disadvantage of youth. But you have an integrity and an honesty that many so-called public servants seem to lack or grow out of for the sake of their own self-interest. You are exactly what Parliament needs—what the _people_ need.”

“But how could I _possibly_ be elected?” she bemoaned. “I don’t _know_ anyone. I have no reputable influence, no experience! They weren’t shy about that when I was submitting my candidacy. The other candidates are leagues more capable and what do I have but a degree in Economics and Political Science? _Anyone_ can get a degree these days, as long as they’ve got the money! There’s so much compromise involved and I’m scared—what if I have to do something terrible for the sake of something greater at someone else’s expense? What if I can’t and I have to? What if I mess it all up? What if Mama and John are _right_?”

And so there it was—insecurities boiled and bubbled up from her lips before she had the wits and sense to stop them. Her mother’s voice was in her head, chiding her for the impropriety of airing out family secrets to a complete stranger.

But he wasn’t strange, she’d reason—he was kind. And he made her feel comfortable. _And he listened, Mama! He_ listened _to me!_ she told her mother’s voice in her head; but even the Duchess Kent in her mind’s eye would have none of it. However, before she could apologise for the outburst, he asked her something.

“Do you really believe that, Victoria?”

When she looked at him, his eyes met hers forthwith. There was an intensity to them—so deep set, so bright—and how unflinching were they when he looked at her. It was as though his very stare were enough to coax every truth from her lips for he would know when falsities would dare escape them. She’d never seen eyes quite like his before.

Her lips parted and she answered truthfully.

“No,” she said. “Not really.” A pause, for he kept his stare intent, as if he knew the cues on when she still had more to say. Finally, she admitted it—quiet, like a whispered prayer on a dandelion seed, fearing the truth she’d kept so secret would grow and blossom once uttered—and she admitted it anyway.

“But I am frightened.”

“I would think you a fool if you weren’t,” he replied, finally, and the intensity of his eyes softened. It were as though he knew how difficult her confession was—and to someone she barely knew. But she decided, right then, that she would very much quite like to know him—yes, very much indeed. She listened to him go on. “You aspire for an immense responsibility, ma’am, but you do it for the right reasons and with commendable honour. When the time comes to make the hard choices you fear, I believe you will do what you feel is _right_.”

Was this how it felt for one’s soul to soar?

How she had longed to hear such belief—such validation that she didn’t know she yearned for, she didn’t know she was starved of. Here was a man who barely knew her and yet, and yet, and yet—how he believed in her. How light did her heart feel, but how full!

Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, gratitude woven deep in her bones for this man… this man whose name she had yet to know. She was still made speechless from his incredible kindness to even have the mind to ask.

“And if it means anything to you at all, Miss Victoria,” he continued. “You have certainly earned _my_ vote today.”

“I don’t even know your name,” was all she could say in reply—breathless; almost a sigh.

“Promise me you won’t give up on this dream of yours and I might be inclined to tell you,” he joked, mirth shining from his eyes.

Victoria laughed.

“I promise,” she said. For his cheek, she added, “Queen’s honour.”

“Then… my name is Will, ma’am,” he replied finally. “William Lamb, of Melbourne’s, at your service.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lei = Lehzen. Will be made clearer in future chapters.
> 
> I have to say that I will be taking a lot of liberties as this fic is very much only loosely based on the show, I'll be recasting some of the characters you may know and love in order to further incorporate diversity to accomodate the modern setting, and please forgive what I get wrong for I know very little of British history and politics, so do forgive my born & raised Southeast Asian self.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! And if you'd like to further help by financially supporting me through this period of unemployment, you can support me through a continual donation through [Patreon](http://patreon.com/owedbetter) or a one time donation, like if you want to buy me a coffee or whatever, on [PayPal](http://paypal.me/jodayuta).
> 
> Thanks so much! x


End file.
